The Warm Eviction of Mourning Doves
Wires sway with southern birds.
No more do mourning doves alight
at my approach, nor converse
with the breath between my thumbs,
the round continuity of my years.
These turtle doves glide longer, I think.
Their rasp harder to imitate.
Blunt tailfeathers tell me something
White-winged doves on barbed fencing
slap their stripes, and I, dismayed
consult field guides to learn
these new birds strange to my spotting,
ranging into northern climes.